Uncool Infected
by GhostSnowWhite
Summary: Boomer has never been apreciated as an infected and it's always hard when the cooler guys can one up ya. Can he make any allies in this doomed world? Or will he just suck at being a zombie forever?  Summary is bad. I promise the story is better.
1. Introduction

_**Hi. This is my first story I've ever uploaded to so please be nice. I've noticed that Boomer and Jockey have literally NO stories up, so I thought I'd contriboot. I really hope you like it, reviews are very welcome! And Jockey will be coming in later Chapters, I promise **__**Anyway, please enjoy!**_

Boomer lay on the ground, the night sky above him and the fires and cries of the chaos around him filling his senses. Common infected ran past him and soon after he heard the screams of what he assumed to be survivors. He sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on the stars above, trying to look past the rising smoke. He remembered when he used to be an astronomer. An astronomer with a high paying job, a nice condo, a cute dog named Spanks, a bird named Starscream and the most kick ass computer set up the world had ever seen.

But now he was here; this bloated piece of shit lying on the ground in the middle of a chaos filled city and most embarrassingly, unable to get up. He assumed it could be worse. At least this way he wouldn't be seen by survivors, and if he was they would probably think he was dead. Well, more dead then he currently was.

He'd seen some of his 'type' get shot before. The fat bloated puking ones would explode and he could hear everything in their bodies splattering in every direction, like watching a star explode and bring out every planet orbiting it. Except instead of destroying the things around it, those who were hit by the disgusting mess would have the horde on them in seconds. And oh so very lucky for him, he happened to be the exploding type of infected.

He couldn't remember his real name before the infection hit, but all his friends at the lab called him Boomer because he loved to play video games with explosions. Whenever he would try to remember anymore names or people, he would find himself unable to remember and feeling cheated and angry. After all, why couldn't _he _be one of the cool infected? Like those ones with the hoods or the insanely strong ones that could run through freakin' walls? He figured it was because of his serious case of IBS and how he had been struggling with his weight his whole life. (Though he thought he was doing much better these days. He has lost 20 pounds and was starting to fit into his old clothes.) Maybe that was why the infection had changed him into the bloated, puking _thing_ he had become.

A screeching sound emitted from beyond his sight, snapping Boomer out of his thoughts. The screeching echoed through the alleys and the sky and soon turned into a frenzied sound of feral noises. Boomer felt chills across his boil-spotted skin and he tried to look around himself, franticly trying to see where the noises where coming from. He knew those noises, those terrible noises. They belonged to one of the hooded infected, those madly strong, wild, but oh so awesome creatures that he would much rather be. But despite how cool they where, he knew they were dangerous, even to other infected.

The screeching and howling came to a sudden halt and the sounds of a feeding frenzy replaced it along with loud chewing, growling and…. Laughter?

'Oh god, I'm gonna die here' Boomer thought. His belly began to make noises and he could feel acid building up in his throat as the stress and fear built up in his system. He clenched his mouth shut, not wanting to vomit all over himself. (Even if he had done it so many times before)

The noises echoing through the alleys stopped and there was only silence. Though the fires still popped and sizzled and far away the sounds of gunshots could be heard, but the silence of that hooded infected scared him more than the screeching barking and growling. Or the thought of the survivors shooting him, causing him so explode. Not knowing what else to do, he began praying to the only god he'd ever known; Yevon, God of Spira from Final Fantasy 10. He murmured the prayers and did the hand gestures as best as he could remember, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could. He was going to die, die a fat, bloated, puking mess. Die all alone in this stupid burning city, never getting to see his puppy Spanks or his birdie again. But damn it, He thought, if I'm gonna die, I'm at least going to a better place! So he prayed, the image of what heaven could be and wondering if they had internet connections. (Or maybe Minecraft.)

"What are you doing?"

Boomer opened his eyes to see one of the hooded infected leaning over him, a confused look upon its face. It had messy brown hair that reached its jaw, fresh blood dripping down from its mouth and all over its front and its hands still bore flesh of its recent kill. As Boomer took in the sight, he realized this infected was female and surprisingly tall.

He struggled to find words and finally peeped out, "…n-nothing."

"Bullshit. You were doing weird arm things and mumbling," The girl pointed out, her voice rather raspy and low.

Boomer felt his stomach acid bubble up again and tried to swallow it down. "I was just…" He tangled his chubby fingers together, "Um, looking at the stars."

The girl looked up at the sky. "Why? There's no prey up there."

"C-cause it's pretty." Boomer stuttered.

"Oh." The girl sat down beside him without warning and stared upward.

A long silence followed as the two stared at the stars. It would have been an odd sight to onlookers; two monsters who were so calm in the center of all that chaos, looking up and appreciating a bit of nature while the world around them melted into anarchy.

As the hooded infected stared upward, Boomer dared to let his eyes wander to her, trying to figure her out. He noticed that she wore a black sweater with the letter S on the arm and under all of that gore her skin was spotted in what may once have been freckles, contrasting her pale, sickly skin. She was built too, breasts generous in size, a thin, flat middle and her arms and legs so muscular that it showed through her yoga pants and sweater. She seemed so strong and on the thin side, like someone who played a lot of sports or taught classes at the YMCA.

Her glowing red eyes met his in a sharp movement of her head and she raised her eyebrow, "What are you looking at?" she barked, feeling threatened.

Boomer raised his hands, trying unsuccessfully trying to move himself back a bit, "Nothing, nothing!" He cowered, tasting bile raise in the back of his throat. "I-I was just wondering what your name was!"

The girl seemed to relax a bit. "Oh," She snorted, "I don't know. Most of us just go by our titles."

"Titles?" Boomer repeated.

"Yeah!" The girl smiled, leaning forward, "Titles! Like what we are! You know, I'm a Hunter, You are a Boomer."

Boomer's eyes widened, "How did you know my name?"

The girl growled a little, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Because that's what you are!" she said, reacting as though he where a complete idiot. "You're a Boomer! You puke and explode! I'm a Hunter, I….well, I hunt shit. And Tanks are those huge ugly guys who break through safe houses! Get what I mean?"

"I guess. But what are the others called?" Boomer asked, feeling rather stupid.

The hunter rolled her eyes, "Well, those ones with the tongues?"

"Yeah?"

"Smokers. And the crying bitches are witches. Then there are the Spitters. You'll know those when you see them. There are those ones that are kinda like Tanks, but like, half of one. They're called Chargers. There are also these weird ones. And I mean really weird. They don't ever stop laughing and they jump on people who aren't infected and rape their heads or something. They're the weirdest."

Boomer tried to picture what kind of infected would laugh and try to rape peoples' heads. He couldn't imagine it being very pleasant. He winced and looked back to the Hunter, "Sounds terrible."

The hunter nodded, leaning on one of her hands, "Called Jockeys. Don't taste very good either. Not even worth the effort."

Boomer thought about that for a moment, wondering if she has tried to eat every one of the different types of special infected. He tried to put it to the back of his mind.

The hunter suddenly jumped onto her feet with a small growl.

"Oh," Squeaked Boomer, "where are you going?"

"I smell survivors. They smell better than the others." She said matter-of-fact-ly.

Boomer realized if she left, he wouldn't be able to get up and leave before the survivors arrived. It killed him a little inside to have to ask, but he pushed past the embarrassment to further his existence, despite how blubbery his existence may be.

"Um, could you help me up please?" He stuttered as quickly as he could, trying not to miss her.

The hunter's lips curled into a bemused smile, "HA! I knew you were stuck!" She snickered, her devastatingly long and pointed fangs showing between her parted lips. Boomer's cheeks felt like they were on fire before the hunter stopped laughing. She threw her hand forward, a smile still on her face. "Alright. Take my hand you big lug."

Once Boomer was up the hunter gave a little wave and sprinted off happily, her growling and barking still echoing through the air after she was out of sight. Boomer sighed, relieved that he didn't die and had perhaps made a new friend.

He began to think to how pretty she must have been before the infection hit as turned to find a safer place to hide. Even after all the infection her hair didn't look that bad. And her figure was really nice (unlike his.)She probably had no trouble getting dates. Taking a few steps forward he could hear her feral call, then the scream of a survivor. He picked up the pace a bit, feeling the acid that he had forgotten about rising again in his throat. Suddenly the sound of Gunshots rang through the air, silencing the hunters call. Not even a moment after the gun shots Boomer could hear the sickening sound of raw meat hitting the ground. His entire being filled with panic, inflating as he gasped. He exhaled, all the acid in his throat and belly flung uncontrollably out of his mouth and all over the ground before him, splattering with sickening noises. "Shit!" He cursed, realizing what would happen now that he had puked. So, still dripping from the mouth, he began to run for cover, hearing the approaching survivors and the horde in the distance.

His mind screeched at him, telling him to fight, to attack the survivors, the infection trying to make him the violent killer he never wanted to be. It told him how satisfying it would be to slice into bodies and eat raw flesh, how happy he would be and how fulfilling it was. Images of murder and cannibalism began to pop up in his mind and it pressured him and screamed to turn around and fight, kill the non-infected, but his common sense told him to hide, HIDE FOR GOD'S SAKE!

The horde was coming from all around him, he could hear it now and his mind raced as he looked for an immediate hiding spot, a spot somewhere in the hopeless, empty street. In a car? No, he wouldn't fit. In the broken down restaurant behind him? No, the windows were broken and they'd find him in no time. He spun around, looking for something, somewhere to hide, anywhere that would work. The stress was making his belly quiver and the acids build up again. He felt as though he was about to vomit again, the bile building up in his throat when suddenly;

"YES!" he shouted. He noticed a dumpster in the corner beside an alley. Perfect for his size and perfect for hiding. He ran over and pulled himself in, shutting the top once his massive body had made it all the way in.

The smell wasn't so bad, considering he was use to the smell of death, this was nothing in comparison. He lay quietly against the plastic bags, his hand in something sticky and he could feel rotten food pouring out through a ripped bag onto his lower half, releasing a whole new stench onto him. He ground his teeth together thinking, 'great, as if I couldn't smell any worse.' Boomer could hear the horde had arrived outside the dumpster now, fighting and scratching at one another to try to find the puke. Why they liked his puke so much, he'd never know, but he waited quietly as he listened. Then he could hear the survivors' guns going off and the cries of the infected.

He didn't know how long he lay there in the garbage, practically fermenting in the rot. After a long period where he could hear nothing but gun shots, everything quieted down and he could hear the survivors talking.

A woman's voice started, "That's weird. They were attracted by the puke, but I didn't see a boomer. Did you guys?"

There was a shuffling, then a rather grouchy, gruff voice said, "No, but maybe he's still around."

"Man, I dun't wanna find out. Lets git outa here" Said a southerner.

The other voices agreed and Boomer could hear them walking his way. He assumed they must have been going down the alley his dumpster sat beside, but his stomach still reacted as though he had been spotted. It began to burn and bubble again, and he pinned his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it in. Just as he moved his hand he heard a forth voice right outside the canister. It was low and sounded like it came from a very tough man.

"Figure there's a safe house nearby?" He asked. After he spoke Boomer could hear the clicking of a gun being loaded.

The southerner was the first to respond, "th'rs gotta be. This is an evac city, ain't it?"

The rest sort of grumbled as they moved along, out of Boomer's range of hearing. After a few moments he swallowed hard then let out a relieved sigh. Finally, he thought, I can get out of this dumpster. He reached his thick arms to the rim of the canister, his fingers barely holding the folded metal as he tryed to pull himself up. He struggled, feeling the strain in his arms and shoulders. It was then that he realized why jumping into the canister was a bad idea;

He'd be laying down in it.

He couldn't get up when he's laying down without someone to help him.

He sat there silently for a moment in the garbage, the crackling of fire and distant screams and gunshots still in the air, audible even through the dumpster. He took in a calm, deep breath then …

"AW FUCK!"


	2. 1

It had been a day since Boomer's run-in with that hunter girl. It had taken him the better part of the day and one enraged Tank before he finally was freed from that garbage can. Once he was up he decided to take the chance to explore the buildings and empty stores around him before trying to find some semi-permanent living quarters.

After a few hours of rummaging through convenience stores he had managed to get himself a shit load of junk food, several jugs of milk that hadn't yet passed their dates, two refrigerated sandwiches (he didn't even know what was on them, nor did he care at this point) some batman comics and some x-box games. After some internal debate he decided he shouldn't really have to worry about leaving any money for his 'findings'. It wasn't like the cashiers would need it now that their heads where either smashed in or infected.

Walking out onto the street, plastic bags in hand, Boomer began to look at his surroundings, trying to find the safest point. It was getting dark again and some of the fires where still going, but most of them had burned out. Carnage and gore covered the streets he walked, blood and innards trailing the road, and a particularly nasty looking streak of blood smeared across the sidewalk. He assumed some poor bastard had been killed then dragged somewhere for a snack. The though made the acids build in his bloated belly. Trying to distract himself before he vomited again, he stared upward at the red and orange sky as he walked. Clouds above him rolled in the wind so slowly he could swear they where a painting and then there was the sun. The sun was so bright on the horizon it pained his eyes to look at it, his eyes stinging and the circle of discolouration in his vision after her turned his gaze away. His mind began to wander as he stared at the sky. When was the last time he had been _outside _for a sunset? He couldn't remember. He was forgetting a lot these days. He wondered where his family was. How they were doing. He tried to recall their names.

He couldn't.

He felt his body tense up in frustration. Why couldn't he remember their names? Little fragments of memories pieced themselves together in his mind. His skinny sister smiling when she opens a present, his father's funeral and the clam and serious expression he wore in that casket, his mother's wrinkled cheeks and amazing hazel eyes. A loving warmth filled his chest as he thought of their faces, but it was crowded by the frustration of not knowing their god damned names. They where his FAMILY. His fucking _family_ and he couldn't even remember their names! He remembered seeing their faces, But just their faces.

"!" A hysterical cackling tore through the air snapping Boomer back from his thoughts. He frantically spun around in circles trying to locate that horrid noise's source to no avail.

The terrible shrieking laughter got louder and louder as Boomer stood shaking in the street. His brain screamed at him to fight, to run, to puke, to do anything helpful, but his body remained frozen in fear. Louder and louder the laughing came closer and closer. Boomer's rotting blood pulsed rapidly though him, his body trembling. He felt the acid in his belly work its way up his throat with so little warning that he couldn't prevent himself from spewing across the ground in front of him. Green slime and chunks littered the street like a canon had gone off. As he choked back the remainder, the horrid taste still in his mouth, he though "I've never thrown up that _much_ before."

As Boomer straightened himself he realized that the laughter had come to a halt. Raising an eyebrow he made a face and looked around once again. It was then that he could hear the approaching horde. Screeching and howling came from all different directions and he could see the forms of the common infected running his way.

Adrenaline ran through his veins like an explosion and, in a panic, Boomer began to run for the first building he could find. Without any thought he threw himself through an open door, slammed it behind him and ran up the flight of stairs adjacent to the door.

As his fat blubbery body tried to betray him as he climbed the stairs, he could hear the cries of the horde beyond the walls. He shivered, trying to pull himself up the stairs, holding firmly onto the handrail with his left hand and clinging onto his little plastic bags with his right. When he reached the top of the first flight of stairs he took a gander at where he had gotten himself this time.

He was in a long, 70's coloured hallway with several numbered doors along the walls. Another staircase lead upwards right beside the flight he had just scaled and a single window at the end of the hall shone the red-ish orange light across the cheep carpeting.

He smiled, thinking aloud, "Shit. Well that was lucky. Who'd have thought I'd find apartments while running away from a horde? Keep this shit up and I might just get a girlfriend and win the zombie lottery too."


	3. 2

**Hope I'm doin' okay here guys. I know my updates are slow and that last chapter was short, but here it goes! If anyone has suggestions, just let me know! Feedback is always welcome! Hope you enjoy **

Night had fallen and Boomer was now wandering the halls of the apartment building, making his way up urine-smelling staircases and checking all the doors of the rooms, hoping for one that had been left unlocked before the uninfected left. The horde outside had long since dispersed and their gruesome howling and gargles where replaced by a deafening silence only interrupted by Boomer's strained breaths. He cursed for what must have been the hundredth time as he struggled to move his body up another flight of stairs. Once he had reached the top he leaned against a wall for a moment to catch his breath. It had never been this difficult for him to climb stairs before. The thought crossed his mind that he should just try to break a door down. _But if I break the door down, I won't be able to lock it when I'm in there_, he thought aloud, pushing himself off the wall.

Beginning his search again, He tested the first few doors to no avail. As he reached the end of the hall, he jiggled the handle of a dark steel door marked '631'. It turned. A wave of relief poured over him and his shoulders relaxed as he opened the door and peered in.

No lights where on in the front room. If it hadn't have been for the infection, he probably wouldn't have been able to see at all, but his eyes cut through the darkness and he could see the little hallway just beyond the front door with a closet to the left and a small table with a bowl of keys to the right. The floors where what looked like slate or some sort of dark stone and the walls where a light colour with little patterns etched into it which he could scarcely see in the darkness.

Boomer wearily entered the apartment, locking the door behind him. Without thinking much about it, he slid off his shoes out of habit, leaving them by the closet. Taking a few steps down the hallway he observed his surroundings; it was an expensive looking place that was for sure. It was large and had pale furnishings which contrasted with the dark walls. Upon leaving the hallway one would enter the living room which openly attached to a dining room and kitchen. (Boomer assumed it must have been an open concept house) All the furniture was flat and new looking, not a curve or playfully softened edge it the design, making the house almost look like it belonged on magazine covers. The entire rear wall of the large main room was made of windows and a large glass door leading out onto a stone balcony decorated with new looking lounge chairs and unlit candles. Two doors led away from the kitchen, one leading to a bathroom, another a spare bedroom whereas on the other end of the apartment a hallway began at the living room, leading down to a small office and two more bedrooms, the master and what was probably another spare.

After searching the place and declaring it vacant, Boomer decided that this would be his home until the infection was somehow solved. He tried all the lights and appliances to discover the power was out. When he checked in the washroom he caught something in the corner of his eye. Snapping his head around to see what it was, he was taken aback by his reflection staring right back at him. In the washroom mirror he could see how his eyes shone yellow in the darkness and how his skin looked green and sickly.

"Holy crap-hat" he murmured to himself, examining his reflection. It had gotten worse since the last time he had seen a mirror. He poked at some of the boils developing on his cheek while looking at all the changes. His stomach wasn't as big as he initially thought it was, though it did look bloated and was spotted with sores, boils and marks where his skin resisted the sudden stretch the infection had given it. His eyes and skin looked weary, discoloured and overall bloated. Surprisingly though, his facial structure was similar to what it had been, though it had completely bloated out when he initially contracted the infection. His extremely Irish button nose was visible again and he could see the definition between his lips and face now and his sandy blonde mess of hair was peeking through the mess of dirt, puke and…._blood? Is that what that is?_ He thought, trying to pick some of it off.

Boomer decided to run a shower, knowing it would be cold without the electricity. Stripping his soiled and torn clothing he stepped into the stone shower stall, the cold water practically shocking him as it made contact. He shuddered, scrubbing his head, trying to ignore the freezing temperature. Looking down at himself he felt disgusted, all the marks, boils, discolouration and bloating almost teasing him, making him feel worthless. He remembered how his mother and sister would tease him for taking such long showers, saying he liked his reflection so much that it would distract him. He would always respond with a 'yeah right, look at this belly' or 'oh yeah, cause I love to look at fat guys'. If they could see him now, they'd probably agree. Hell, if he had seen himself the way he was now, back then, he would never have complained about being fat again.

He sighed. It was times like those that Boomer wished he was absolutely bonkers so that the voices would distract him from his emo-ass thoughts.

Once he was finished his arctic-themed shower he rifled through the closets of the apartment until he found a bathrobe that would fit him. Although he felt like he should be smoking a cigar and drinking wine, he made due.

Feeling the heaviness of sleep on his lids, he realized he hadn't actually slept in days. How he managed to stay awake so long baffled him. He climbed into the bed, relieved it actually fit his large mass and made himself comfortable.

It wasn't long before he had fallen completely asleep.

That night he dreamed of his mother and sister.

The streets where rather quiet that night, the remaining fires withering away and the majority of the infected where hiding somewhere or maybe looking for food. Even the streetlights were out now, leaving only the dyeing yellow glow of the fires and the eerie pale light of the night sky to illuminate the streets. The frame of an infected loomed outside the large windows of the apartment, twitching and jerking his body uncontrollably. His body was lithe and tall but with posture so terrible that he appeared feral and mutated. From inside he could hear the snoring of the fat one within the building. He fought back laughter as he pressed his face against the glass, trying to peer in.

"JuST a fEw morE HOurS" he snickered quietly, absolutely giddy, "FEw moRe HOUrs!"


	4. 3

_**Hello, Sorry for the delay, I'll get right to work. Here you go **_

* * *

Boomer awoke the following morning from the sounds of shattering glass and an ear-splitting crash coming from the next room. Disoriented and panicked, at first he was unable to move from the bed, paralyzed in his fear. Everything was completely silent for a moment before another huge crash and thumping noise tore through the air. He bolted up and moved as fast as he could to throw his bathrobe back on and prepare himself for… whatever the fuck was going on. He approached the door, his feet silent on the carpet and he opened it, a lone creek emitting from the hinges. He poked his head nervously out the bedroom door and looked down the hallway. It took a moment to register at first, but after a few blinks he could see the shimmering of the morning light reflecting off massive amounts of broken glass and shrapnel littering the floor. He gulped and stared outward in complete dismay, feeling a lump in his throat building. A breeze blew down the hallway with a light whistle, making him shiver and pull his robe closer around the collar. With a hesitant sigh, he stepped out of the doorway into the hall as quietly as he could, edging down the hall in his bare feet while trying to avoid stepping on glass shards. He had never felt so fucking scared. _Why the hell am I going towards it? _He internally screamed to himself, _but what is hell could it be?_

As he reached the end of the hall the carnage before him was completely apparent. It looked like a shot from a high budged disaster movie; Chunks of metal and glass where everywhere and pieces of machinery dotted the scene. The large wall of windows was completely shattered and anything that remained in the sill was cracked and somehow holding in its frame in chunks. Any piece of furniture that had previously existed in the apartment was torn to shit or broken completely, upside down, on its side or missing completely from Boomers' view. Blood was spattered on the splintering and pulled up wood floor leading up to a battered and dilapidated helicopter lying, or rather, splayed out in the now completely destroyed kitchen, its blades crumpled yet slowly trying to spin with a long and aggravated screech with every turn, even after its crash landing.

Boomer was unable to move.

"How…how can this be real?" He muttered to himself, completely astonished.

Suddenly his nose picked up on a smell. Unsure of what it was, Boomer took a deep breath in through his nose, and the smell over took him. He had never smelled anything so amazing, so delicious. Like the most succulent meat, fresh and seasoned with the most savoury ingredients. Boomer's eyes went wide and he was filled with want. Not lust, but want. A _hunger_. He had never felt so hungry before in all his life. His body ached for it and his senses told him to find it, find the source of that tantalizing smell. Without any cognitive thought he followed the scent down to the floor where the pools of blood lay. Hands shaking, he dragged his fingers through the red, the source of the smell, the want. The need. He sniffed it and quivered uncontrollably, then licked his hand greedily, the taste unlike anything he had ever experienced. His whole frame shook and he went forward, to follow where the scent was strongest; into the cockpit of the downed helicopter. He climbed in, his breath heavy with his lust for his meal and need to satisfy his hunger. Within the cockpit wires and mechanics fell down from the ceiling hitting him and brushing past him as he investigated. More glass and shrapnel decorated every surface and oils and grease dripped from between control panels. Then there was blood, dear god there was blood. The smell alone made him feel ecstatic, but when Boomer spotted the body, that still warm body lying lifelessly in a heap in the driver's seat, he couldn't stop himself. He lunged forth, taking hold of the body and dragging it out of the aircraft and onto the broken wood floor, a long trail of blood following behind.

Boomer fell to his knees and held the warm, dripping corpse in his hands. Broken shards of carnage dug into the flesh in his knees and feet, but he didn't care, he had to have this, had to _eat_, had to _feed_. _Now,_ _he had to eat now!_ He plunged his teeth into the corpse's neck, biting through the flesh as easily as biting through butter, and swallowing, barely managing to chew. He continued to feast, feeling his fingers slicing through the body's flesh, allowing that delicious liquid to flow. Gore covered his face and hands and he sucked as much of it of his lips as he could before taking another chomp out of the humans' body. As he worked his way further into the flesh, biting through tendons and the weak collar bone, he could feel it begin to move and twitch, very slowly, as though it was regaining consciousness. Without a second thought, he clawed through the rest of its neck, suckling the flowing blood and eating its meat while basking in the ecstasy he felt as the blood and flesh filled him.

A laughing erupted from behind him, loud and annoying, immediately making his head snap up to look.

A tall and slender man stood several yards away, emerging from behind the carnage. A wicked grin on his face and the flesh around his mouth freshly open to expose the muscles around his teeth and cheeks, he stood with his extremely slender hips jutted out to the side, one clawed hand bent close to his chin and the other a little lower to his chest. His figure was rather horrifying on its own, just by virtue of the massive tuff of red hair drooping around his face and the black leather jacket with the white fur trim, but to add to it was all his open, yet ignored wounds, his bright yellow eyes and that terrifying smirk.

His voice was fast and mocking as he spoke; "Havin' fun?"

Boomer was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the stranger before him. His pupils dilated back and forth from large to small as his mind tried to sort out what he was witnessing. After several moments his gazed drew back down to his hands, where he still held the broken body. Shock overtook him and he opened his mouth as if to scream, nothing coming out. As he stared in horror at the macabre scene before him the body made one last twitch in his hands and it was Boomer's cue to freak. He threw the body from his grasp and scuttled backward until his back was pressed right against the helicopter wreckage while staring at the site in complete dismay. It was then in that silence that he realized the glass and wreckage on the floor was cutting him. He squealed quietly and began to hyper ventilate, his gaze snapping from the stranger to the body then to his blood soaked hands.

The stranger laughed at first, then sighed, "You fucking pussy," He smirked, taking a step towards Boomer, who twitched and scooted back against the wreckage, pinning his back flat against it.

"Seriously?" laughed the other, extending a clawed hand, "I'm tryin' to help you."

Boomer shook in fear for several long moments before meekly extending his hand towards the tall stranger.

"Up we go, Come on." The tall man said as he helped to pull Boomer to his feet. He gave a small grunt while pulling him up, "Where's the bathroom, we gotta wash that up."

Boomer pointed to the door, which chunk of glass had now impaled. They made their way there and the tall man instructed the chubbier of the two to sit on the edge of the tub while he ran water and searched out some tweezers from the cabinet. As he searched he talked quickly over his shoulder, barely making any sense over the sound of running water, "You stupid shit, you went full out crazy there. When was the last time you ate something? Or do you always do this? Oh well, it doesn't really matter. Here, put your feet in the water. Don't cry, just put it in the water, now this is probably gonna hurt, unless you like that shit, then have fun you can enjoy it all you want, but just don't tell me about it cause that's a little too much considering I just met you an- hey, don't move, I told you it would hurt! Hahaha you are such a pu-" he rambled as he helped to treat Boomer's wounds. Boomer just sat quietly and looked at his hands, the blood on his palms beginning to rub off a little.

While the stranger went to work on Boomer's feet, pulling out shards and tossing them in the trash can, Boomer's gaze hardly left his hands. He noticed his fingers where harder and sharper then they had been the night before and he recalled how easily they had cut through the poor person's flesh. His finger nails where almost gone, almost like they had melted into his flesh and gotten harder and sharper. He couldn't help but think of that female version of Wolverine from X-men. That girl who's nails where metal and she always wore black leather for some reason. He winced as a particularly deep shard was pulled from between his toes, clenching his fists. He looked away from them, down to the strange dude who was bent over his legs, straddling the side of the tub and not even taking notice to his big ass boot which was getting wet from the shallow water in the tub. He had to be infected too, but he didn't show any symptoms aside from his horrid wounds. Boomer felt he had heard his voice somewhere before as well, and it made him uneasy_. How did this guy get in the apartment anyway_, he wondered as he noticed the shining gold belt buckle the stranger wore over his ripped clam digger style jeans. Upon closer inspection he saw the buckle said 'Glamour' with the outline of a syringe beneath it.

Boomer felt even more uneasy if that was possible at this point.

After most of the glass had been removed from his feet and they had moved onto his knees, Boomer piped up a little, speaking softly and quietly, "…are you not infected?"

The tall man looked up for a moment, keeping eye contact while he pulled out a chunk of glass. (Boomer wincing as he did so) He was silent for a moment, then looked back down to Boomer's knees, "….yeah, I'm infected….What a stupid question."

"Then how are you so…um….normal I guess?"

He laughed, hard. "Normal? You think missing half your fukkin' face is normal? How about my fukkin hands? They're so fukkin' hard you could break shit off 'em and I would never feel it."

Boomer looked him up and down, "Do you know what's happening to us then?" he said meekly, trying to avoid eye contact.

The stranger laughed again, for much longer this time, "You think I fukkin' know? I just got bitten like yesterday!" He picked another shard of metal from Boomer's knee, "Welcome to hell! This is no different the doin' too much acid."

As the stranger laughed Boomer finally placed the voice as the laughter he had heard yesterday. He felt a chill down his back and he closed his eyes, "I heard you yesterday." He breathed, afraid of the other's reaction, "following me."

The stranger pulled the final shard from Boomer's knee then tossed the tweezers onto the counter without much regard for where it landed "Oh yeah! Haha! You where the one that puked every-fukkin'-where!" His grin was dark as he laughed, "You don't even fukkin' know! I couldn't stop laughing."

He stood, pulling his leg from the water and giving his junk a quick adjustment before turning back to Boomer, "Kay, rinse off the blood and you should be fine. We heal fast." He instructed, looking over his shoulder at the mirror. He licked his lips and muttered something about being sexy, then clicked his tongue, "So what's your name, chunky?"

Boomer frowned, leaning over to splash some water on his knees, "….it's Boomer." He muttered.

"Boomer huh? Isn't that like, your type or something?" the tall man muttered as he fluffed the fur of his jacket.

Boomer looked up, "I was told that by someone else, but that's my name."

"Sweet shit, now I don't have to remember much at least."

Grabbing a towel and dabbing his wounds the larger of the two piped up again, "What's yours then?"

The stranger spun on his heel, facing Boomer once again. "Fuck if I know." He snickered, "I don't remember shit." He ran one of his clawed hands through his hair, "want to smoke up with me? I've been holding onto this good stuff since the town first started going to hell and I've been cravin' it for a century."

Boomer shook his head, "I'm good for now. Um, what should I call you then?"

The stranger shrugged, "I dunno. How about David?" he grinned, opening the bathroom door and taking a step out.

Boomer stood as well, following him out of the washroom. "Why David?" he asked, his voice high with curiosity.

The stranger gave Boomer a wink and stuck out his tongue, making Boomer's pulse double (although he didn't know why)  
"David. Like David Bowie."


End file.
